


The Steward, The Crow, His Vows & Their Lover

by honey_wheeler



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, M/M, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-28
Updated: 2017-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-06 10:50:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12209751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: “My vows,” Jon protests weakly when Satin’s hands drop to the lacing of his breeches. He puts his own hand over Satin’s, but doesn’t stop him or pull his hands away. Instead it’s frankly encouraging, the way the pads of his fingers splice with Satin’s own fingers to rub at the webs between them, as if urging them to move faster.“Lord Commander Snow,” Val says. “What good are vows on a night as cold as this? Won't you keep us warm?”





	The Steward, The Crow, His Vows & Their Lover

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by **[this photoset](http://dreamofspring.tumblr.com/post/164986961260/make-me-choose-jonsatin-or-jonval-asked-by)** by **[@dreamofspring.](http://dreamofspring.tumblr.com)**

As Satin might have expected, Jon Snow proves challenging. 

He quivers as he stands between them, Val pressed to his chest as she nips and licks at his lips and Satin behind him running his hands down Jon's ribs to settle on his hips, fingertips just dipping beneath the waist of Jon's breeches. Such a position might turn other men to ash, but Jon hasn’t raised his hand to touch either of them despite the palpable longing that radiates off him like heat from the fire in the hearth. Val heaves a mock sigh of exasperation and looks at Satin over Jon Snow’s shoulder.

“Do they all take this much convincing?” she asks.

“Who, men?”

“Crows.”

Satin laughs in answer. He’s taken the same vow as the other men of the Night’s Watch, but that hasn’t stopped any of them from seeking his furs, those most vocal in their opposition to a boy whore’s presence at Castle Black being the most likely to come find him in the dead of night and have their itches scratched. Vows of celibacy never meant a thing to any of them but to provide a convenient veil. 

“Most crows are easier,” he says. 

“My vows,” Jon protests weakly when Satin’s hands drop to the lacing of his breeches. He puts his own hand over Satin’s, but doesn’t stop him or pull his hands away. Instead it’s frankly encouraging, the way the pads of his fingers splice with Satin’s own fingers to rub at the webs between them, as if urging them to move faster.

“Lord Commander Snow,” Val says. “What good are vows on a night as cold as this? Won't you keep us warm?”

That works on him in a way all the seduction and teasing failed to; Jon’s body becomes instantly pliant, his breathing going from strained to heavy. Satin smiles and shakes his head at Val ruefully. Leave it to Jon Snow to succumb more readily to a plea for help, however playful, rather than his own increasingly obvious desires. 

“Not Lord Commander,” he corrects them, and that’s when it’s more than clear he’s giving in to what they all want. “Just…Jon.”

What a magical thing, permission. The room around them seems to warm even as clothes are shed and skin is bared. Jon seems helpless to do anything but submit; he leans back against Satin’s chest, his hands hovering in the air as Val helps Satin undo his breeches and push them past his hips. Val sinks to her knees, taking his hard, straining cock in her hand with a lover’s smile. Satin knows from talking to her that she’s never lain with him before, but still there’s an intimacy in the way she touches him, a familiarity.

Jon gives a terrific groan when she drags her tongue up his length, and his hands, so indecisive while they undressed him, settle with purpose in her hair, not grabbing but merely holding, caressing. Satin smoothes his hands over the hollows of Jon’s hips, tangles his fingers in the coarse hair around his cock, then twines them with Jon’s in Val’s hair, the two of them guiding her as she takes Jon’s cock fully in her mouth and sucks.

Satin has given and watched many instances of such pleasuring in his life. Most men react to it arrogantly, smugly, as if it’s their due, something that’s owed them rather than a gift given. Whether Jon has never had someone suck his cock before or whether it’s still simply a novelty, he reacts in the only proper way, to Satin’s thinking. He pants and moans, breathing Val’s name reverently, touching her like she’s the Maiden herself come to bring him pleasure. As well he should. Satin wouldn’t mind such attentions from Val himself, though his preferences run to men; skill recognizes skill. She sucks Jon’s cock with a sensual enjoyment that tells Satin she derives great pleasure from either cocks or simply from Jon Snow himself. 

“Do you suck all cocks so well?” Satin asks her. 

Val pulls off Jon’s cock to look up at Satin and grin, understanding his unspoken question. Her eyes flick to Jon’s and something in her face softens, looking so warm and intimate that Satin almost feels he should look away so as not to intrude. She twists and pumps the hand she has wrapped around Jon’s cock and extends her tongue, delicate as a kitten’s yawn, to tease just under the head. Satin sets his hand on Jon’s belly, bracing him as he bucks helplessly. His muscles quiver under Satin’s palm; Satin can feel his barely leashed strength. He’s seen Jon in the training yard. He could throw the both of them across the room if he so chose. That he holds his strength in check and treats them only gently is another thing that sets him apart from the other men. Val closes her mouth around the head and sucks at it so avidly that Jon cries out, his knees buckling as Satin tightens his arms to keep him upright. Val looks back up at Satin, smug satisfaction plain on her face, pulling away and stroking Jon’s cock insistently as he spills with helpless moans and great spurts over her throat and chest. 

“What do you think?” she asks

Satin chuckles, his hand joining hers to wring every last bit of spend from Jon’s cock. “I think Jon Snow is a lucky man.”


End file.
